Finding Innocence
by The Doomsday Architect
Summary: SS AU. Harry lives in Hell with the Dursleys. When he is found by Hagrid, he is sent by Dumbledore to live with the Weasleys. They accept him with open arms, but will he return the favor and allow himself to heal? Rated M for child abuse. Violence later.


**Hello! Thanks for checking out this story.**

**Finding Innocence is my first Harry Potter fic, and I hope I manage to do a good job. I realize the plot is a generally overused one, but I've noticed that a lot of abuse stories tend to involve mentor!Snape. While I find those enjoyable to read, I thought about having one centered more around the Weasleys.**

**I took a bit of this out from the SS book, but I won't be doing that for the rest of the fic.**

**I currently do not have a beta, but I would most appreciate one if anyone offers.**

**This story contains abuse, as well as swearing (though not in this chapter unless you count the word "arse"). There will be violence in later chapters in the form of flashbacks.**

**Abuse of any kind is a serious business, and by writing this do I in no way condone or tolerate it. No one deserves to be abused.**

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"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips for each Dursley and three bananas, which they shared among themselves. Harry got nothing. He had been expecting this, however, and he was rather surprised and thrilled that he only got off with no food. That was much better compared to the beating that he'd first received when the first few letters had arrived.

He'd always been hit before that. Excluding Dudley's constant and violent bullying, Uncle Vernon would often give him a sharp slap across the face if he did something wrong (or if he was just in the way, or if he was angry about work). His punishments began to consist of several punches until he was curled in a loose fetal position on the ground, and then Uncle Vernon would grunt, mutter something about him being useless, and then hobble away. Not long after they started, however, the letters began pouring in (quite literally, in the case of the fireplace back at Number Four). Uncle Vernon grew more and more frustrated, and as his temper grew, so did the length of the beatings. He claimed that the letters were arriving because word had gotten out of how Harry was being punished. Harry wasn't stupid, he could tell that this wasn't the truth (in any case, he hadn't told a soul). Uncle Vernon was hiding something. But he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Aunt Petunia was, in a way, worse. She wouldn't usually hit him (although when she did it was with some sort of cooking device), but she would give him a list of chores to do and barely feed him. Every day he was expected to water the plants; cook three meals a day for the three Dursleys; vacuum the entire house; wash, dry, and put away the dishes; mow the lawn (if it was required); shovel snow (during the winter); rake leaves (during autumn); and wash the windows.

If he failed to complete all his chores, the consequences would be dire.

Because of the constant punishments and chores, Harry was not exactly kept in the greatest condition. His bright green eyes had dulled considerably to a grayish-green color. He was thin, unhealthily so, to the point where his ribs could be seen, felt, and counted. Bruises and cuts covered his body, which was clothed in garment several sizes too big, as they had once been Dudley's.

Everything in the neighborhood knew to stay away from the Potter boy. He was a menace, they said. Harry had no reason not to believe them. His uncle had told him thousands of times that he was a freak.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" Uncle Vernon said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought no one would stance a chance of reaching them to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunter. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started neat midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa non his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, though he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he's be eleven. Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine—maybe he'd wake up Dudley, just to annoy him—three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shuddered, and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

"BOY!"

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room, a rifle in his hands-now they knew what was in the long, thin package he'd bought the other day.

"You!" he said, his eyes popping. He dropped the gun and lunged at Harry, striking the small boy across the face and causing him to fall to the ground. "This is you, isn't it? Just like with Dudley at the zoo! Whatever it is, you are to cut it out right now, do you hear me boy? _Do you?_"

BOOM.

Uncle Vernon looked up at the door. He kicked Harry aside and grabbed the rifle again, edging his way closer.

"Who's there?" he called. "I'm warning you—I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung cleanly off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

Terror seized Harry as the enormous man squeezed his way into the hut. He bent down, picked up the door, and shoved it back into its frame, mutely the noise of the outside storm slightly.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…"

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen in fear as well.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," the stranger said.

Dudley squeaked and ran behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon. Harry was standing over in the corner, breathing heavily, trying to keep hidden in the shadows.

"I demand that you leave at once sir!" Uncle Vernon rasped. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Shut up, Dursley, ya great prune," the giant said. He reached over the sofa, pulled the rifle out of Uncle Vernon's hands, and bent it into a knot as easily as if it was made of rubber. Then he threw it into the corner of the room.

"Ah!" the stranger then said, casting his face to the corner where Harry was attempting to make himself as small as possible. "An' here's Harry!"

Harry did not move. He barely breathed. He had no idea who this man was, or if he was friendly. He didn't seem to care about the Dursleys, but rather more about Harry.

Could he be the one writing the letters?

"Harry?" the giant asked again, sounding slightly confused. "Summat' wrong?"

Harry shook his head frantically for a moment, before he remembered the stranger wouldn't be able to seem him in the darkness. "N-no, sir."

"Ah, well come on then!" the giant said jovially, patting the cushion next to him invitingly. "Got summat for yeh. Not every day yeh turn eleven, innit?"

Slowly, nervously Harry took a step forward.

"Name's Hagrid," the giant said, fiddling with his coat. "Rubeus Hagrid. Now—I mighta sat on it at same point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his overcoat he pulled out a small, slightly squashed box and opened it. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with the words _Happy Birthday Harry_ written in green icing.

Harry had never seen anything so wonderful in his life. He'd never gotten a single thing for any of his birthdays.

"I—I—"

"Well, there's no way yer gonna get to enjoy it all the way over there, is there?" Hagrid said, his eyes twinkling.

Feeling much more trusting of the giant now, Harry moved forward into the light.

Hagrid nearly dropped the cake in surprise. "Blimey, Harry!"

Harry froze, wondering if he'd done something wrong. "I'm sorry…"

Abruptly Hagrid's face twisted into an expression of rage. "You don't got nuthin' to feel sorry fer." He rounded on the Dursleys. "It's them who should be sorry!"

"That boy is a menace!" Uncle Vernon suddenly roared, apparently feeling a burst of courage. He stepped forward to point a shaking, meaty finger at Harry. "He's nothing but a worthless little degenerate! He—"

"QUIET!" Hagrid roared, brandishing a flowery pink umbrella from his coat at Uncle Vernon, who appeared to suddenly lose his courage in the fear of being speared.

"This—this changes things," Hagrid said quietly, to himself. He stood up and began pacing.

Harry stayed quiet. What had he done wrong? Why was Hagrid angry at the Dursleys, instead of him?

Hagrid fumbled into his pocket for a second time and retrieved a container of dark green powder. "At least we can use it this time, now that I know where yeh been staying."

Still not speaking, Harry tilted his head sideways slightly, confused. Hagrid pointed his umbrella at the fireplace, muttered a few words, and sparks shot from the tip, landing on the coals. In seconds there was a roaring fire.

"Harry," Hagrid said. "Yer gonna go through this, okay?"

"I—what?"

Was this giant going to hurt him after all?

"O'coure," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "Yeh don't know about Floo Powder."

He tossed a pinch of the powder into the fire, which popped viciously as the flames turned green.

"I can't go with yeh—too big for the fireplace, yeh see—but I can promise yeh this, Harry: Yeh got nothin' to fear from me or the man waitin' on the other side."

"What do you think you're doing?" Uncle Vernon demanded suddenly. He strode across the room in an attempt to grab at Harry, but Hagrid slapped his umbrella against the man's beefy chest.

"Dursley, I got a right mind to put an Unforgivable on yeh, so if yeh know what's best for yeh, yeh'll sit your arse down and shuddup."

Apparantly Uncle Vernon knew as much as Harry did about "Unforgivables"—that is to say, nothing—but he sat down either way.

"Trust meh, Harry," Hagrid said. He stuck his hand into the emerald flames and pulled it out—it was unharmed. "See?"

Harry still looked unconvinced. "He—do I have to come back?"

"Nah," Hagrid said immediately, his gaze softening as he took in the boy's haggard appearance again. "Never."

Harry tried to manage a smile at this, but the entire experience was happening way too fast for him to take in.

"Oh, wait!" Hagid said suddenly. "Just a mo'." He took out a spare bit of parchment and –was that a quill?—and scribbled a note. Then he pressed it into Harry's hand. "Give that to Professor Dumbledore."

"Who?"

"No time, Harry, the fire's dyin'. Get in, quick! I don't got a lotta Floo left."

He gave Harry a little push—Harry winced as Hagrid touched the bruises and cuts—into the fire. Then he yelled, "Hogwarts!" and threw some more powder onto the flames.

The next thing Harry saw was green, green like the light he sometimes had in his dreams.

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore had had more than his fair share of unexpected late-night arrivals, but he showed no sign of surprise when Minerva McGonagall pushed open the door to his office and entered, still dressed in her nightgown.

"Ah, Minerva," Dumbledore said, clasping his hands together and peering at her over his half-moon spectacles. "To what do I owe the pleasure at this time of night?"

She looked troubled. "Harry Potter, Albus."

Dumbledore's smile faded, replaced by a look of worry. "What of him?"

"You are aware, of course, how Hagrid departed to give him his letter in person because those Muggles he lives with would not let him read any?"

"Yes."

"Well, Potter just appeared in my fireplace. He—" She took a shuddering breath. "He said that Hagrid had sent him. 'I'm supposed to give this to Professor Dumbledore' was what he said. And then he handed me this." She opened her fist to reveal a piece of parchment covered in Hagrid's recognizable handwriting.

Dumbledore took the parchment and looked down at it.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_Gave Harry his letter. Something else came up though. You'll see what I mean if you take a look at him. I thought it best to send him along as soon as possible. I'll be coming back in two days' time._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

"What is the state of Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked, without taking his eyes off the letter.

"He—I sent him down to Poppy," Minerva said. "Perhaps it would be better for you to see him yourself."

"Very well." Dumbledore stood up from his desk, and motioned with a hand to the door. "Lead on, Minerva."

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**The real extent of Harry's abuse is going to be shown in the next chapter. I left it mostly ambiguous in this chapter because I wanted to focus more on setting up the story without involving the abuse, because the abuse is going to be the plot-driver for the fic. There will also be flashbacks of the abuse. This story WILL get steadily darker. I plan to go up until the end of Harry's first year.**

**Please review!**


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